Bruises
by iLoveMeSomeCaptainAmerica
Summary: There's a reason she's afraid to go home, a reason that she takes it upon herself to look after her kid brother, a reason why she shuts everyone out. Jace's new co-worker, a girl that does everything in her power to make herself invisible, is hiding something from the world. And he intends to find out what it is...but knowing is only half the battle. Clace. AU. Rating may change.
1. From Afar

**Hey everybody! This is a new project I'm working on that's different from anything I've ever done before. I should be updating pretty regularly, now that I have a schedule, so hopefully you all like it and actually _want_ me to update. Like all of my other stories on here, it's going to be a Clace fic, but don't worry because there're going to be other members of the TMI gang thrown in the mix**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of Cassandra Clare's characters!**

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><p>Clary Morgenstern was a walking enigma. From the day I'd arrived at St. Xavier's, as flustered as I'd been, there had been this moment. It couldn't have been more than a second, a mere blink, but it had felt like so much longer. Juggling my new books in one hand, scanning my schedule with the other, and somehow keeping up the conversation with the guy—Jordan—showing me around, a girl with<em> red<em> red hair had picked that exact moment to walk past me, literally taking away my breath as she'd met my gaze with a pair of devastating eyes, and, not a moment later, moved on with them trained to the floor.

I'd watched her make her way down the rest of the hallway, keeping her head down, going unnoticed by anyone else it seemed, until she'd turned a corner and abruptly left my plane of sight. I still couldn't understand why_ that_ girl had left me standing there, mouth slightly parted, in an iron-handed, sucker punched-daze, completely unmindful of Jordan trying to regain my attention. She wasn't by any means drop-dead gorgeous, or even societally pretty. Don't get me wrong, she _was_ pretty, just... in a way that you normally wouldn't consider. There was something about her—her wild, red hair, subtly-unsettle freckles, and the-the story behind her eyes, _all of it_, that made her into something that was endearing enough to be mistaken as beautiful.

Clary was a grade younger than me, only a sophomore, but she was in both my physics and calculous classes. She sat in the back of my physics class with another sophomore, a girl nearly as quiet as she was, keeping to herself and not saying anything unless our teacher would call on her himself. She always had the right answers, her voice surprisingly strong and unwavering, and never ceased to impress the rest of the class, the majority being completely lost and remaining silent but thankful to be able to cross a problem off of their homework. She was no different in calculous, that is if she even showed up. It was weird, how even if she was there for the attendance to be taken down, more often than not she'd always receive a pass and have to leave early. Then again, I was the only one that seemed to take notice.

Jordan thought it was weird, my interest in her, and I guess it was understandable. Clary was just a decent-looking girl that simply _was there_; a wiz at school that was absent from it a lot, that never was the first to say anything, and that drew in her sketchbook more than she interacted with other people. She shouldn't be anything special, and if you asked anyone about her they'd most likely not even know who you were talking about, but to me, even just thinking about her was inevitable. It wasn't like it was love at first sight, no, or even that I had a harmless crush on her, I just...was_ interested_. And that was it.

Whatever it was about her that made me so attracted, however, wasn't strong enough to make me go out of my way to talk to her. In fact, I had yet to even approach her. I watched her though, all the time. While it took no longer than a matter of days to get my name spread around school and, thanks to Jordan and his ties to the soccer team, to gain a solid group of friends, being surrounded by people in between passing periods, during lunch, and in the courtyard before and after school, did nothing to keep my mind from wandering off, to keep my eyes from seeking out a particular redhead. I could laugh and smile and joke around all I wanted, I could attend as many parties as I was invited to, I could even show interest in other girls (in a _variety _of other girls), but Clary, no matter how far back in my mind I'd push her, was there regardless. With me. Always.

I didn't obsess over her, and it wasn't like she was _all_ I thought about, I just kept her close, whether it be the last memory of her I had or when I'd simply take notice of her sitting alone at a lunch table with her sack lunch pushed off to the side, head down, scribbling furiously in her sketchbook. I've always imagined that she was a good artist; I had never actually_ seen_ any of her work, but she was always drawing so she had to be all right. I guess it's never occurred me before that she _could_ be drawing stick figures. Then again, she didn't exactly strike me as the stick-figure-drawing type. _What did I know?_

Anyways, observing from afar did nothing to lessen this undeniable pull I had towards her. She was so,_ so _complex. She always left me after each of our one-sided encounters with this hungry appetite to scrutinize. Her appearance was one that shouldn't have any questions left to be asked about; she was small, doll-like even, a girl that was sensitive to even the slightest of touches I'd think. The smears of paint that dabbed her school uniform, as minute as they usually were, just added to her seemingly simple fiber. Clary, to anyone that gave her more than a second's worth of a once over, was as quiet, independent, creative, and gentle as her exterior entailed. _But_, to anyone that gave her more than a second's worth of a once over, there was always something _else_. Something guarded.

Sometimes I'd catch this goofy looking Junior, a boy with glasses that hung crooked on his nose, childishly curly hair, and eyes that betrayed his supposed 'maturity', talking to her. I think his name was Simon. It's what I've heard a couple of his wanna-be band mates address him as, but I could be totally wrong. I think he liked Clary—no, actually, I _knew_ he liked her. It was obvious, the way he'd appear out of seemingly thin air to help her carry her books, or to walk her to class, or to be caught looking at her from afar like me. Clary was nice to him, of course, but as he'd be cracking these loud and ridiculous jokes, going out of his way to compliment her, and trying desperately to engage her in pointless conversations, Clary always seemed to be in a whole other world, reflecting this lost look in her eyes. She never went any deeper with Simon than friendly small-talk, always keeping their waters shallow. Where it was safe.

I felt bad for Simon, but not nearly as bad as I felt for her. For Clary.

It wasn't like she was afraid of people, but I could tell that she didn't trust them. She was always shutting them out, always turning her head away from boys that took interest her, from classmates that simply want to get to know her better, from chances to go outside her comfort zone—and I wanted to know why. And so I watched and watched and watched, and found myself never losing interest but never gaining insight. Some days she'd come to school with her eyes hardly open, looking so exhausted that I'd fear she'd just fall over, and other days she'd look completely normal, always keeping to herself and steering clear away from possible interactions. I could always tell when she was happy, or at least in a considerably better mood, because it had become rare to see her being anything other than sad; it was all in her movements, the lack of motivation she had as she sulked past me to get to her seat in physics, the way she just seemed completely drained of all energy.

I couldn't tell whether she was in pain, or if she was really just that depressed—and that raised more questions. _Why_ would a girl like that, a girl who was smart, talented, and attractive be depressed? She was young, and yet it was as if she'd lived a lifetime of hardships and never-ending obstacles. She should be going to homecoming, to parties, having_ fun _and the whole shebang, but she was above it all. None of that stuff mattered to her, and I wondered what _did_ matter enough to her for her to completely give up on being young. It had to be something.

And I was going to find out.

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><p><strong>This is probably the last thing you guys want me to be doing, starting yet another fanfic. In my defense, I'm sharing this with you guys because I figured that having to write something like this for my creative writing class shouldn't go to waste. I'm thinking of making this one a shorter story, but I'm not sure yet. I may also be having to change the rating later on—yeesh, I know—because this story is going to touch on some sensitive subjects.<strong>

**I know not a lot happens in this chapter, like nothing at all, but I really need to get going on my chemistry project that's due tonight (oops), and I plan on updating this as early as Tuesday night! The whole story won't be this boring, I promise!**

**Just let me know what you guys all think!**

**Until next time, peace!**

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><p><strong>Will edit soon!<strong>


	2. Happy Cones

**Wow, I am so blown away by all the amazing response. You guys are just too awesome and I can't thank you enough! One of the reviews asked about the timeframe ****_Bruises _****is most likely to have, and, to answer the question, this story will be taking place while Clary and Jace are both still in high school. They're going to get older, though, and I plan to make it where Clary ends up as a junior and Jace as a senior. Who knows about the epilogue though(;**

**Well, here's the chapter!**

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><p>I work at this place, Happy Cones, every day of the week excluding Thursday. It's a pretty tight schedule, what with have to balance eight hours of school, the inevitable homework load, and a job on top of it, but working at an ice cream parlor <em>did<em> come with some pretty delicious kicks. It wasn't exactly "store-policy" to eat any of the ice cream, especially when customers were around, but my boss wasn't exactly there to watch me most of the time and the little sampler spoons were simply too tempting to pass up. Hey, if I have to stand in an apron with a smiling scoop of vanilla ice cream on it and wear a matching hat that's way too small for my head, for _hours _at a time, a few sneaks here and there at least make it bearable.

Happy Cones is owned by this middle-aged grouch named Luke. I guess the business has been in his family for generations now, and that he feels obligated to keep it running, but you'd have to be a cat that can't land on its feet not be able to see how much he hates it. He'll pretty much hire anyone because the more employees he has, the less he has to show his face. I'm not sure what he does on his off-time, but if I had to take a guess, it'd involve anything and everything that has to do with frowning, rolling his eyes, and muttering explicits under his breath. Putting it in the lightest way possible, Luke wasn't a people-person, so I wouldn't be surprised if he just hibernated in his living room and pigged-out to _The Walking Dead _or something.

It was safe to say, however, that the worst part of the job had to be these long stretches of time when no one was around. The people that knew about Happy Cones refuse to go anywhere else, claiming that our butter pecan ice cream is to "die for", and they provide our main source of income. However, there are _a lot _ice cream parlors in Brooklyn that also serve butter pecan ice cream that's _also _supplied by the exact same brand as ours, and the more level-headed, anti-die hard-for-Happy Cones samaritans have figured this out and choose to go elsewhere because we charge twenty-five-cents extra. Not to mention that a lot of other people haven't even heard of the place because one of Luke's past relatives decided it'd be a good idea to invest in the only building that faced _away _from the busy streets and passerby's. The only reason I knew about Happy Cones was because of my dad; he'd lived in Brooklyn as a boy himself about a block away from it.

_Hey, it could be worse._ Working with ice cream was a hell of a lot better than cleaning bathrooms at Nacho Mama, like what Jordan had to do on his Friday nights, and, with that semi-pleasing thought in mind, I pulled out of St. Xavier's parking lot and was off to be at my job on time. That was another thing, Luke, for never even showing up half of the time himself, was crazy-strict about his employees arriving in uniform not even a second past the start of their shifts. Not wanting to have to deal with an uptight boss, a lot of people that started up at Happy Cones most always quit after about a month or two. As of right now, I think I was down to a record-low of about three other co-workers, and I knew that I'd be having to see Luke once I got there, but I also knew that he'd be more tolerable than usual because he didn't want to lose another of his employees.

My phone buzzed and, as the screen angling towards me from its position in the cup-holder, lit up, I took the opportunity to check the time. _Three-sixteen__, still doing good. Just have to be there in four minutes. You're doing good. _The text was from Jordan but I didn't want to risk seeing what he'd said because the roads were icier than normal _and_ my car wasn't even two months fresh from the dealers. My dad would kill me, literally _kill me_, if I got into an accident and didn't die in it along with the thirty-thousand-dollar Mercedes I was beginning to think he cared about more than he did me.

I managed to park out front of Happy Cones a minute before thirty, and carelessly jumped from my car as I attempted to throw the loop of my apron around my neck while at the same time keep my mouth around the brim of my hat. By the time I was at the door, my hands were going at the ties in the back and the too-small hat was successfully cutting off the circulation in my forehead. As I finally—somehow—stumbled inside, I was immediately hit by a wall of warmth and the familiar puke-worthy explosion of mint green and coral adorning all of the walls, seats and barstool cushions, _and_ checker-tiled floors. _That _wasn't anything new, however, rather than hiding in his office in the back, I found Luke himself standing behind the counter _actually _working—well, talking to someone. At least he was doing _something_.

_Wait a min__—_Luke was talking to just _any_ someone, but _Clary Morgenstern_, the girl from my school. It had to be her; no one else was that short, that small, or that redheaded.

Upon my graceless entry, my boss' small blue eyes behind a pair of round frames met mine, seemingly relieved to cut the conversation short. I watched as Clary slowly turned around, flushing as she seemed to be a little startled herself to find me standing there. Wearing an apron. With a smiling scoop of vanilla ice-cream on it. _Great._ "Jace," Luke said, a little louder than necessary. "You're late."

What I really wanted to tell him was to go shove it up his ass, but seeing Clary—at the very place that I work—had completely deflated my thought processing, and I was left to mumble a "sorry" lamely under my breath before checking to see if I still remembered how to blink. After a drawn out, rather awkward moment of me probably looking like a doofus, I started to make my way towards my boss and the little redhead, chanting "don't trip, don't trip, don't you dare trip" to myself. I felt her green, scrutinizing gaze on me the whole time, though I tried to keep my focus on Luke, for the first time _wanting_ him to say something to break the silence.

And he finally, _finally _complied: "Aren't soccer players supposed to be fast? What are you waiting for? An invitation?" I quickened my paced like an obedient dog and shuffled around Clary, making sure not to touch her, dodged in between an opening in the counter, and went to stand behind the different buckets of ice cream positioned just a few feet to the left of my boss. He, of course, just so happened to be shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. While trying not to sneak a peak at Clary, and to make it appear as if I wasn't being nosy and trying to eavesdrop, I let my eyes wander around the shop. It was empty save a little boy that sat in the far right corner. He couldn't have been more than nine, advertising a_Transformer_'s graphic t-shirt, gangly limbs, and a head of childish red-brown curls. He was currently looking down at something in his lap, but I could still make out a face full of freckles. _Cute kid._

His mom or dad couldn't be too far from here, I noted, but it was definitely a first to see someone so young at Happy Cones without a parent. Leave it to some idiot people in the world to leave their child unsupervised in some place with complete strangers.

"Look, kid," Luke was suddenly saying, "I'm sorry, but I can't hire you. You're too young."

Clary's response was almost immediate. "I told you, I'm turning sixteen in _two months_. Just two months. Please, I _need _this job."

"And you can have it—in two months," Luke said tiredly.

"_No_." She'd said it so sharply that I couldn't keep my eyes away any longer. I watched as she swallowed thickly and squeezed her eyes shut before opening them seconds later, blazing with the promise of a fight. "I need it _now_. You don't understand. I'm a hard worker. I'll work for you every day of the week, even on the weekends if that's what you need. I wouldn't even have to scoop ice cream—I could just keep things clean. I'm always cleaning at home. I have experien—"

"It's against the conduct here, kid, to hire anyone under the age o—"

"You wouldn't even have to pay me that much. And you need more workers; the sign on the window says so." Clary wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. There was something in her eyes, something _pained _and desperate and alive that was impossible to ignore. _Just more questions...It's always questions with this girl. Why? Why? Why? When? Where? How? Who? _I wanted to know why—_why_, _why_, _why_—she wanted, no, _need_ed this job so much. No teenagers our age were all that thrilled about having jobs, let alone _fighting _to have one—at a place as senseless at Happy Cones. Did she really want to scoop ice cream that much?_  
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Luke looked about as frustrated as I'd ever seen him be. The protruding vein in his forehead was indication enough that he was just barely containing his anger, and, even though I didn't even know the girl, I _really _didn't want her to have to fall victim to the worst of Luke's wrath being directed at her. The last time he blew his top, this poor guy well into his thirties nearly peed himself. He doesn't work here anymore, needless to say.

I watched with a baited breath as Luke exhaled through his flaring nostrils, deciphering his hand that rose into the air—_don't hit her, boss. Don't do it_—and rubbed at his forehead. Clary seemed to realize that she'd struck a cord and had enough self-preservation to let the man before her collect himself before saying anything else. She wasn't going to back off, though. I figured that much; no way, not with her shoulders squared determinedly and her chin sticking out with confidence I had never seen from her before. As far as I knew, Clary was only just warming up.

"I can't be hiring every fifteen-year-old in the city," Luke told her, concealing his anger, I'm sure, if to only avoid getting sued for assaulting a young girl in his ice cream parlor. _Could you imagine?_ "This here is a working place—"

"And I understand that," Clary fired back.

"There's paperwork involved. You can't just come in here—"

Clary whipped out a neatly folded packet from the inside of her jacket, eyeing Luke as she did so, and opened its folds to reveal every single line, every single agreement, and every single term checked, signed, and dated. I couldn't tell whether my boss was more begrudgingly impressed, shocked, or confused as he took the paperwork from her hands, adjusted his glasses, and peered down at it to see for himself. I think he was searching high and low for any flaws, rapidly turning the pages, his eyes going back and forth, back and forth, until he defeatedly set it down in front of him.

"Okay," he breathed out harshly. His face was as red as Clary's hair. "I think it's great that you want to enter the working field so early, and I appreciate you coming prepared. It's not every day that you find someone as young as yourself with..._this _much determination. But I'm sure, with it, you can find someplace else—"

Clary huffed impatiently. "With all due respect, _sir_, this isn't exactly the first place I've gone to. I've been turned down time and time again, and every time I've been advised to go 'someplace else'. I can't wait two months, you must understand that. I _promise _that I'll be the hardest worker you've ever had, and I won't make you regret it." She paused long enough to regain her breath, and it was only then that I noticed the gleam to her eyes. She looked as if she were about to cry—_but_, _why_? _Come on man, just give her the job already. _See, out of all of the..._vast _differences between me and Luke, he was the one that'd never be willing to throw the towel down. He was heartless. There was _a girl _in front of him practically _crying_, and he was _still _wanting to turn his head the other way.

It was right then, at that exact moment, that I decided I'd give Clary my damn Mercedes if she didn't get the job.

"I _need _this," she said a little forcefully, "and...I _need _the money."_  
><em>

Luke's cold expression wavered—only slightly, though. "You make a good case," he said, having the decency to at least sound a little sympathetic, "and I may be hiring, but, kid...I'm not desperate. Come back in two months and...the job is yours."

Clary shook her head as if she were on fire. "What's the difference? In two month's time I'll be the exact same as I am now; no older, no more wise or more mature. I—"

"You're right," Luke said, to my upmost surprise. For a second I thought he was going to give in, but then..."There is no difference between now and two months from now. _Why _does it matter if I hire you right this moment?"

Clary's exterior slipped for the briefest of moments. "Because..." she said, losing the confidence behind her voice. "_Because__—_because I _need _this job. I'm sorry that that's the only explanation I can give you, but please believe me when I say that _I_'m desperate."

The two stood in a standstill for what seemed to me, and to probably Clary as well, like hours, the passion of green colliding with the unwavering fight of blue. I silently cheered in Clary's favor, hoping for a miracle to happen while battling internally about why I cared so damn much when I knew perfectly well that there was no way that Luke was going change his ways for anyone, especially not for some sophomore in high school that didn't even have her license yet. No way. The moment she seemed to realize this herself was the moment that all of the energy in the room was sucked dry. She was the first to look away, preferring to stare down at her Chucks in defeat, completely deflating of life. Her shoulders slumped forward and she slowly turned on her heel.

I watched as reached the door and paused, looking towards the boy that I had completely forgotten about. "Matt," she said. "Come on." Without even looking up himself, the boy, Matt, suddenly got to his feet and dragged them over to where Clary was.

When he got close enough, Clary put a hand around his narrow shoulders and pushed on the door—only to be stopped by a voice. "Wait."

Clary and I both turned towards the source of the sound: Luke. He sighed loudly, before smiling for what must've been the first time in a long time. "All right you pain in the ass, you've got the job."

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><p><strong>Err, it wasn't a very good chapter, nor a very long one, but if I stay up any later I'll be completely screwed tomorrow. With that being said, I'll be going through and editing this chapter as soon as possible.<strong>_  
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**Please let me know your thoughts(:**

**Until next time, peace.**


	3. Behind the Counter

**Here are a few answers to some of the questions I got last chapter(:**

**1) As of right now I'm going to try to keep this all in Jace's point of view, or at least until the mystery behind Clary starts becoming unraveled.**

**2) Clary's little brother in this story isn't Max, unfortunately, rather an OC of mine. However, Max, along with the rest of the Lightwoods (Isabelle especially) are going to play huge roles.**

**If you guys have any more questions, I will be more than happy to answer them next chapter(: Thanks for all of the amazing response for chapter 2, and I hope I don't disappoint with this one!**

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><p>It was no surprise that when I arrived at Happy Cones, Clary was already there. She'd been showing me up for the past two weeks, day in and day out reporting for duty who knows how early before her actual shift started, in uniform with her hair pulled back, and, as you can imagine, putting forth her best effort. She didn't get to do all that much, what with being too busy mopping up the floors, washing down the counters and tabletops, cleaning up after sloppy customers, and making sure that the girl's bathroom stayed immaculate, but <em>damn <em>did that girl work hard. There wasn't a moment that she wasn't doing something, even after all of her 'required' work was finished, and more often than not she'd take it upon herself and organize and restock the concessions—_which _just so happened to be _my _job. There was no telling how much time us 'average' workers had left before Luke would fire us all and let Clary _run _the place herself.

Despite not yet allowing her to actually scoop ice cream, I could tell that Luke was floored by her performance. All of us were, really. Happy Cones had never been so..._clean_.

"Hi Clary," I greeted her. We didn't talk much, even though our work schedules were pretty much the same, but, then again, neither one of us really went out of our way to do so. Of course we were still _nice_, we still said 'hi' and everything. Well, _I_ said it to her and she'd say it back to me. Usually.

Clary looked up from wiping down a table and gave me friendly, small smile. "Hi."

_See?_

I nodded once to her and made my way across the shop, finding my place behind the counter. Clary's little brother Matt, as per usual, was sitting at his little table in the corner. He always kept to himself, save the occasions when he'd call Clary over and have her help him with his homework. I found that odd if not endearing, one) because he was there in the first place and two) he was _nine _years old and more well-behaved, not to mention quieter than most people my age. Some days he'd bring a couple of his toy action-figures with him, and others, like today, he'd just have his _Avengers _backpack and simply work on whatever it was that he needed to work on.

Matt took that exact moment to look up. His eyes found mine and I smiled a little at him, but almost immediately afterwards he was looking down once more, going back to scribbling in his composition. I watched him a little while after that, thinking it uncanny how alike he was to his sister, and then I was playing ping-pong between the two of them with my eyes, letting them linger slightly longer on Clary each time, until I heard the door to Luke's office opening.

For once, the man had shaven—_hallelujah__—_and he didn't look like he'd just climbed out of bed. He _was _still wearing his usual sweats and a too-tight shirt with faded stains, but it's not like he, much less _any_one, can have a complete one-eighty change overnight. Eying me in acknowledgement, Luke came to stand a little ways to my right. "Kid," he said gruffly—but not necessarily unkindly, causing Clary to almost immediately turn around after dropping the towel from her hand to the table she'd been working on when I'd first come in. With both her eyes and mine on him, he grunted in pause. "You're being promoted."

Clary smiled every so slightly, but hardly showed any digression from her character other than a curt, respectable nod. Satisfied, Luke then faced me. "I expect you can handle having her under your wing for a while. Just show her what to do." He didn't leave me any room to answer, in fact, not even a moment later he was turning around to undoubtedly go back to hibernating in his office without so much as a look over his shoulder. Which, of course, left me and Clary. And Matt.

_How do I do this, exactly? _"Do you, uh, want to..." I trailed off, motioning behind me. I wish I just knew how to talk to her like I knew how to talk to other people. I'd never know what it was about her that left me nervous in her presence and second-guessing everything I said to her, every move when I was with her, and, well, what caused me to feel like a doofus that was way out of his element whenever the little redhead was anywhere near me. Words came easy to me with most other people. In general, I was a pretty confident, and, I guess, personable guy, but...I couldn't even say 'hello' to this thin wisp of a girl that hardly even said anything herself without feeling...stupid.

Luckily for me, though, Clary was smart and she nodded in understanding before making her way towards me. I rubbed at the back of my neck and then readjusted my hat for extra measure, before laughing breathily as she came to stand right next to me. She smiled, but I could see it in her eyes that she was a little uncomfortable herself. Then, we kind of just...stood there in this _weird _silence that left my neck and face burning, until I finally pulled it together enough to grab the nearest ice cream scooper. _I just had to show her how to freaking _scoop _ice cream. _

"So, uh..." I said, "Yeah." I then pushed myself to grab a cone from the top of the clear barrier attached to the counter, and then just...scooped some ice cream on it. I wasn't sure what I was getting at, just that I was hopefully demonstrating to her what she wanted to see. "And..." I breathed, holding out the cone to her. "That's about it."

She laughed. _Really _laughed. At me. "Well, then, I think I can handle it."

And then, just like that, I found myself regaining my step and smirked despite my surely red ears. "I don't know," I said. "It's much harder than it looks."

She raised both of her eyebrows at me, smiling, this distinctive shyness about her still lingering. "I'm sure."

"Do you, uh, want to give it a go?"

"I think that'd make sense."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"_Right_, so..." I held out the scooper to her, my other hand still occupied by a now-pointless serving of ice cream. _What was I going to do with it? _Now, what I _really _wanted to do with it was eat it, but something told me that'd be the absolute worst thing I could possibly do at the moment; hell, I could hardly keep my hands from shaking, imagine what'd happen if I tried putting something in my mouth. I'd probably end up spitting it right back out, all over myself and the floor—_and _Clary. _Not a good image. _As soon as she took it (it being the scooper and _not _the ice cream) from me, I took the opportunity to dump the cone in the trashcan, that was luckily and conveniently positioned right at my feet, underneath the countertop.

Clary went to work at digging in one of the fuller buckets of ice cream—the mint chocolate chip—and I, rather than retrieving a cone for her like I'd done for myself, opted to give her a cup instead. Not like it was hard to put a scoop of ice cream on top of a cone, like, at all, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight and figured she'd appreciate...a cup. I wanted to punch myself.

"Bigger scoops," I found myself telling her.

She looked up at me with her green eyes. I couldn't tell whether she was annoyed with me or just beyond over trying to make sense out of me, but in the end she nodded in acknowledgement and, as I'd told her, worked on "bigger scoops".

"Is that good?" she asked.

"A little bigger."

This time she didn't even bother to give me her attention, rather remained focussed down at the ice cream and paused her work for the briefest of moments before carrying on as if I hadn't said anything.

"That's a good size," I told her.

She laughed, sounding out of breath, and shook her head. "Glad my scoops are finally up to standard."

"I told you, didn't I? It's harder than it looks."

She shot me a disbelieving look over her shoulder, took notice of my smug smile, and turned fully back around to _finally _dish her perfectly-sized scoop into the cup, seemingly taking my approval as some kind of a joke. I didn't blame her. "What should I do with it?" she then asked.

"Er..." I know it was just ice cream, but throwing it away was a total waste and I'd already done just that to _my _fair share for the day. I also didn't want to tell her something like "I'll eat it", because—well, haven't we discussed this already? I wanted to avoid the whole throwing-up on enigma-girl. And then, after I probably stood there for a good second looking like a doofus, a light-bulb went off in my head. I side-stepped around her, took the scooper from her hands, and dug it back into the mint chocolate chip for yet another good-sized scoop. "Do you think your brother would like it?"

I looked back at her with a smile, one that she returned briefly before nodding a little. "I think so."

"Good 'cause it's on me," I told her, fetching a little sampler spoon from above.

I made my way around the counter and approached a looking-down Matt in "his corner" of the shop. Even when I got close enough for him to have noticed, he made it seem as if he couldn't, focusing harshly on writing with big block-letters on a nearly blank page in his notebook. Trying to make friends with him, I had a feeling, was going to be even harder than it was going to be with his sister. So, I proceeded carefully, set the cup on the corner of the table he sat at and pushed it towards him all at once. "Hey," I said to him. He still refused to look up at me. "Hey, Matt, do you like ice cream?"

He shrugged, writing more nonsense as if to avoid having to talk to me. Hey, I knew I wasn't _smart_-smart, but I was smart enough to take the hint. Oddly feeling as if I had been rejected, I turned around and made my way back over to where Clary stood.

"Sorry," she told me quietly when I got close enough, a far-off look in her eyes. "He's pretty shy."

"It's all good," I said without missing a beat. "Kids really don't like me."

She breathed a short laugh. "Don't take it personally. Matt's like this with everyone. At least before he gets to know them better."

I nodded in consideration, a question formulating within me before I had the time to stop it from surfacing: "Why does he come to work with you?"

Clary seemed to still at that. She opened her mouth to say something, but just as she did, right at that exact same moment, the front door was opening, accompanied by a sample-wind of the cold from outside. Even as Clary turned her head to greet the customer, I was still looking at her—and I think she knew it. Man did the world have it out for me.

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><p><strong>Hoped you guys liked this chapter(: I will still be updating <em>Bruises <em>Wednesday, but I had inspiration to update it today as well! **

**Please review and let me know your thoughts(:**

**Until next time, peace. **


	4. Different Faces

**Hey there! I'm back again(: It's not Wednesday, but I wrote the chapter sooner than expected, so it's another early update!**

**I didn't get a lot of feedback last chapter, but, of course, I'm still so grateful and appreciative for all the kind reviews I did receive. With that said, I only got one question and, as promised, I'm going to answer it!**

**1) My OC Matt is not based off of Max. As stated in the previous chapter, Max ****_is _****going to, along with his two siblings (Isabelle especially), be playing a pretty big role in this story. That being said, Max and Matt are going to be the same age (around 9), which is how their friendship is going to be revealed soon. They may both like some of the same things, but that's about where all their similarities end! This next chapter I will be going more in depth about Matt's general character/appearance and all that fun stuff!**

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><p>There are these...<em>moments <em>that define you. They may not seem like much, what with being too caught up in your own problems and inner-debates constantly going on inside your head about what to do with so-and-so next period, how to handle the prick that won't leave your girl alone, if you can forgive your old man for standing you up yet again for another "client" from work; just _how _you can get past these layers and layers of anger and stress and frustration—if it's even worth it at all. And whatever is going on, regardless, it's _hard _not to want to take it out on the people around you. The _world _in general. It makes it _hard _to still want to hold the door open for someone with their hands full when you very well know that you're late for class, to go out of your way to help a cat without a collar instead of simply turning a blind eye, to buy the lunch of the person in front you when they're a dollar or two short.

Can you honestly say that you would?

The same goes for when you're with your friends, when you have to decide right then and there whether you're above conformity or below it. I don't know why it's such a challenge to simply wave to the guy from your Spanish class when you pass him in halls. Yeah, he may be a little weird, borderline awkward, and always scratch at his zits when he thinks you're not paying attention, but he's _nice _and you can genuinely say that you enjoy talking to him, so _why _can't you talk to him outside of class? Why can't you wave at him when other people are looking? Why can't you even smile his way? It's simple, _so _simple, but being with your friends instinctively makes you hyperaware of everything that they see, makes you change your own opinions and thoughts and decisions to augment theirs, leaving you in the end feeling guilty but at the same time better inside. More assured, I guess.

I didn't want to think of myself as someone like that, I didn't want to be a phony, but, after today, I couldn't think of myself as anything but. Jordan, along with some of our other friends from the soccer team, this senior named Alec, and myself were all talking about a range of different things: how hot the new long-term sub was for Mrs. Monte while she was off on maternity leave, the upcoming tryouts for soccer, plans to go see this new horror movie coming out Friday, Jordan's love-triangle between two sophomore girls named Maia and Stacey-something, whether Alec's younger sister was available or not, and...all things pertaining to that _general _nature. We had all gathered at my locker, passing the time between our next periods and _supposedly _trying to figure something out for lunch, though that topic had yet to even come up and we only had about another three minutes or so.

Anyways, the halls were starting to clear, and I was just keeping up the laughs and conversation when suddenly, out of nowhere it seemed, Clary Morgenstern was making her way towards us. Of course she hadn't gone out of her way to see me, no, she wasn't like that, but it just so happened that her last class was right around the corner from my locker, and she was running late. I couldn't help myself, I couldn't help that I was immediately pulled into this sort of quieted daze as soon as I saw her. It was Jordan who'd noticed my change in behavior first, and then it was the rest of the guys, who all then followed my eyes that were latched onto the "shy, weird girl that was really smart". She was looking back at me, vulnerable green eyes very much aware of the attention I had drawn on her. I didn't know what I'd expected her to do, but Clary had, in the end, smiled. At me.

And I hadn't smiled back at her. In that moment, as I'd turned away from her and back to the suspecting scrutiny of my group of friends, as I'd completely ignored her and decided that I wasn't willing to let my own personal interest get in the way of my standing, I'd defined myself as a coward.

And then I had laughed along with Jordan and all the other guys about how weird it was that she'd smiled at me, acting as if I didn't know her at all outside of school, acting like I didn't think about her more than I did about the other girls. Acting like she didn't really matter to me. In a way, I _didn't _really know her outside of school. I really didn't. But that didn't mean I didn't _want _to, and that didn't mean that I didn't have the opportunity nearly every day of the week after school to do so. My relationship with Clary was delicate if not having yet to even be established, and I knew that it'd probably never be anything different or better or comfortable, but I had taken advantage of it either way. I had basically crumpled up what little progress we'd made, albeit over teaching her how to scoop ice cream, and thrown it in the trash. And I'd had the nerve to laugh about it afterwards, when she was still in earshot. When she could still hear everything that was being said about her and what I didn't say to stop it.

Yeah, I felt pretty awful inside, and I couldn't stop thinking about it hours later, but I deserved it. I deserved much worse, actually.

"You're reeling in all the ladies, man," Jordan had snorted. "Even the mute ones."

I had laughed at that, even as my stomach had been churning on the inside.

Much more was said, granted much more was heard by Clary, and I'd done nothing other than stand there like a complete ass and play along.

I was a coward.

But Clary, she was anything but. I'd watched her as she'd kept walking, as she'd acted as if she wasn't bothered, pretended like she couldn't hear a word that was being said about her, and carried on down the hall until she was gone in the time between one blink and another. I knew, without even having to think, that that'd be the last time she'd ever smile at me like that again.

And all because of that moment when I'd defined myself as a coward.

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><p>That same day after school, Clary was there at Happy Cones standing behind the ice cream counter as always, but, even when she'd heard me come in, she'd kept her head down. I didn't say 'hi' to her because I was too afraid that she wouldn't say it back, so I quietly approached her, working on the ties of my apron in the back, and soundlessly came to stand beside her. She didn't make any move to get away from me, but I think I'd have felt better if she did; it was so much better than her doing nothing at all to show me that she was at least a little upset, and, by closing herself off from me like that, by putting her head down, I felt even more guilty than I'd had about the whole situation. <em>Why didn't I just smile back?<em>

The quiet was too much, and so I brought myself to look around the shop to keep my mind busy. I was surprised to find Matt staring at me almost as soon as I'd looked up myself. In the middle of the mint and coral explosion that was Happy Cones, I became distracted by his hazel-green scrutiny, freckles, and dark brown-reddish curls. I couldn't find it in me to believe that Clary had filled her little brother in on what a coward I was, but I think he _knew_, just by that indifferent look he was giving me, anyways. Or at least that I'd hurt her somehow. I think he was much smarter than any other kid his age, and I think that he looked out for his sister just as she did him.

Just in that one look, albeit the only one I had ever gotten from him, I could see the pain of Clary's that he had made his own, the protectiveness he had towards her, the warning he had towards me, and the childish innocence that you'd expect vacated by something guarded. Before I had time to really compose myself, to give in to my disbelieving, to look him over once more a little harder, Matt had already taken to his usual behavior of staring harshly down at his lap.

There was a story behind him—a story behind both him _and _Clary. Though I hadn't really seen them interact with each other all that much, their devotion to one another was undeniable. It was honestly so powerful how Matt relied on her, how he'd say her name when he needed help, as if she was the only one in the world that he could ask for it, how Clary would drop everything to give him her full attention, how she'd sometimes sweep her hand through his hair to get it out of his face, how Matt would then lean into her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. If I hadn't known any better, and if Clary wasn't only fifteen, I would've thought that Matt was her own child rather than her brother. And then that, of course, got me thinking even more. About everything. Just this full circle of wondering, of me feeling guilty, of Clary, of Matt, of _their story_.

I found myself looking down, sneaking subtle glances over at Clary every once in a while with the budding urge to hear her voice. _Maybe that'd make things have more sense, at least._ The feeling of wanting to put an end to the hurt that I'd caused her was becoming almost overwhelming, and, before I could really think things over, I was opening my mouth. "Clar—" I started.

To my surprise I was met with a pair of green eyes looking up at me, effective silencing whatever it was that I was going to say. Clary smiled ever so slightly, as if in assurance for my sake, but I could see that things between us were different, more distant you could say. "Jace," she breathed, her smile faltering imperceptibly. "If you think I care about what happened...I don't."

Then, just like that, she turned away from me once again and we didn't speak to each other for the rest of the evening.

I was right about one thing: It all made sense now. I was a coward and Clary didn't want to have anything to do with one.

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><p><strong>Yeah, Jace is a jerk. But he won't be for the <em>whole <em>story. I hope that you guys think the pacing is all right; I just really wanted to have to avoid rushing into Clace too soon. I want their relationship to be as realistic as possible considering the circumstances that Clary's in, so, yeah, it may take a while but it'll get there. **

**Can any of you guess what's going on? What's going to happen next? Ask me all of your questions because I _will _answer them(:**

**Please leave me some love!**

**Until next time, peace. ****  
><strong>


	5. Mr Morgenstern

Clary acted as if nothing had ever happened between us. She was pretty good at it, too. If I hadn't known any better and If I hadn't, you know, been _there_ that day at school when I hadn't smiled back at her in the hallway, this whole time I would've given myself a little more credit and thought myself _decent_. I mean, Clary would never turn away from small talk and half the time she'd even be the one to _start_ it herself, and she'd always smile, albeit slightly and lacking in the actually-being-happy-to-see-me aspect, and she'd never deny me a greeting whenever I'd stumble into Happy Cones a minute or two late.

I almost wished that she'd have just yelled at me and made me cry or something than to have to see her be so unaffected. I had been a complete ass and the least she could—_should_ do is treat me like one. It was as if she were..._used _to people being asses, and in her eyes I, Jace Wayland, was just another one that she had to be around a little more than all the others.

Anyways, no matter how good of an actress she was, I still felt horrible because I knew what she was doing; I'd seen her do it to Simon and almost everyone else on a regular basis. She was merely _tolerating _as much interaction with me as she had to to, keeping 'the waters shallow' and idealizing one-layered, elementary conversations, and, in short, treating me with the civility almost all people deserved but none of them wanted when it came to, say, authentic relationships. Clary told me everything that I wanted to hear but never anything that I didn't, and, if anything, that just made things between us more..._divided_.

And I didn't want that.

I watched as her arm strained, her grip around the scooper tight as she worked to get one of the perfect-sized scoop that I had 'trained' her to 'achieve'. She did this all so fast, occasionally smiling up at the customer she was serving and certainly doing her best to appease him. "Would you like two, sir?"

The nice old man on the other side of the counter smiled a little, his small, blue eyes giving headway to the debate clearly going on inside of his head. "Oh, why not," he gave in, laughing heartily. "What my wife doesn't know won't kill her."

Clary laughed in response, raising her eyebrows inquiringly. "Same flavor?"

His mouth twisted together in thought. "Nah. Let's mix things up a bit. How's the butter pecan?"

I couldn't help but grimace at the way he said 'pecan', like pee-_can_. That stuff always bothered me for some reason.

If it bothered Clary, though, she clearly didn't show it. She simply smiled and relayed her impressive, less than three-week acquired background on one of Happy Cone's most popular ice cream selection. "It's a crowd favorite, that's for sure," she told him winningly. "And, I'm sure, it will compliment the rocky road nicely."

"Then give me a scoop of the butter pecan!" the man exclaimed, endearingly cheerful.

I had to turn my head the other way to keep him from seeing my scrunched up expression. _There it was again. Pee-can._

Once I was able to shake myself, I met the man of cringe-worthy dialect's eyes with a smile of my own, signaling to the register. "I'll, uh, ring you up, sir."

"I'll take you up on that, boy," he said, head bobbing once. He met me at the other side of the register, already pulling out his wallet from his back pocket and shuffling through a few of his dollar-bills. I kept seeing twenties and fifties and fives, and I think even a couple hundreds; the guy was loaded. "What do I owe you?"

"Two-ninety-eight," I affirmed.

He pulled out the exact amount, coins and all, with a raised brow, mouth parted slightly, and then set it all on the counter for me to drag over to myself. Don't ask me why, but I found this to be difficult because, well, I didn't exactly have the most nimble of fingers and the dollars and coins seemed to just want to stick to the damn metal. Feeling the scrutiny of the customer on me after I'd pathetically attempted to pick up the cash one-by-one, I hastily resorted to just completely sliding the amount off of the counter altogether and into my awaiting hand. I smiled up at the man a little embarrassedly, flushing when I saw him looking at me in a way that might as well have said _no wonder you're working at an ice cream parlor_. I didn't even want to look over at Clary to see if she had taken notice.

"Uh, would you like your receipt?" I asked him, sounding rushed even to my own ears.

He shook his head, not giving me his eyes as he sorted through his wallet once again to pull out two fives. "This," he said pointedly, looking between the both of us as he held the bills up into the air, "is for the muscle—" he looked at Clary with a meaningful smile before turning back on me with a rather snarky one— "_and_, the, uh, the _brain_ of the team." Clary laughed and I literally wanted to die as he handed me 'my share' the money.

"Uh, thanks," I said, trying to keep my smile, albeit much more tight-lipped and hardly notable compared to my surely reddened cheeks. I had too much self-proclaimed dignity to act like I was bothered, even though he _had_, in a not-so discreet way, called me out for being stupid.

"Thank you, sir," Clary echoed, smiling in an all-knowing was as if she too were in on the joke, and exchanged the ice cream for her tip.

The man replied, "Thank _you_," and, after one last _concerned_ look my way, he was gone.

Even after the customer was through the door, Clary, as if to avoid having to look my way, kept her gaze on the entrance. The silence that fell over us was uncomfortable, you could say, but it was also familiar; we didn't do much talking. Well, like I said before, we _did_, we just didn't do any _real _talking. If Clary were anyone else, I'd be talking his ear off and he, no matter how shy or introverted, would have no trouble keeping up the conversation; I was just that kind of person. You know, the one that wouldn't shut up even if his life depended on it, and that'd completely skip over the whole having to "break the ice" before things could get complacent. I was a people-person in general, and then...there was Clary.

I'd never felt like I had to impress someone with my words because, usually, they just came so easily to me and I'd always be one step ahead in any given conversation, no matter the topic, no matter the person. But this _girl_, who probably didn't even weigh eighty pounds, made me feel like such a doofus. And maybe it was because she was always so indifferent around everybody; yeah, she may not say much, but you could just _tell _that she was making up for it in thought. And then that always got me worried because I didn't know what she thought of _me_. Did she think I was stupid? Did I _sound _stupid to her?

It was as if everything that happened to me when I was with her made me look more and more like an idiot. Take the pee-can-dude for an example. Even _he _made a conscious effort to make me look bad in front of Clary. I mean, so what if I couldn't pick up the damn money off of the counter. I have absolutely no control over static and yet he'd looked at me as if I needed mental stability or something, and then he'd patronized me by calling me the brain when he knew absolutely nothing about how I did in school. _I have a 3.7 G.P.A., buddy. _

I could no longer walk to the trashcan because I now fear that I'll trip, and I can't eat anything in front of her because I fear I'll make a mess, and I can't _do _anything, really, because I fear that _she_'ll see. I'm an idiot when I'm around her. A blubbering idiot.

I knew she didn't want to talk to me, I think I've already established that, but I also kept telling myself that maybe, if I said something right, that she'd instantly like me. _Idiot. _I breathed out, subconsciously tapping my hand against the counter, and turned to face her. "So, uh, what are you doing tonight? It's a Friday." _Of course she _knows _it's a Friday._

She smiled despite my idiot-self and shrugged a little. "I'm trying to increase my working hours here," she said, her voice small, "so I think I'll be spending it here." She turned away as soon as she was finished, looking down at her hands.

"Oh," was all that I could come up with to say. I could hardly believe that a sophomore in high school could balance working as much as she did already _and _keep up with school, and now she wanted to work _more_. How did the girl ever sleep? "Uh, that's cool."

She nodded, glancing at me once. "What about you? What are you doing?"

I exhaled heavily, continuing to keep up with my tapping. _Tap. Tap. Tap. _I really needed to cut it out. _Tap_, "I think I'm seeing a movie." _Tap._

"That's cool."

_Tap. _"Yeah."

"My, uh...My father wants to take me and Matt out to dinner tonight," Clary then said, turning away as soon as the words left her.

"That should be fun," I told her, trying to sound excited for her as I pushed down the oddness of her reaction. Why is it that by saying something as harmless as going out to eat with her family made her seem even more withdrawn than usual? Despite what I was like around her, I wasn't stupid—not really—and I was able to pick up on her considerably pensive mood-change. It got me thinking that maybe she was so sad because she'd distinctly said her 'father'. Her mom could be out of the picture, or her parents could possibly be divorced; and maybe _that's _why she's so...sad all of the time.

It'd make sense. I mean, my parents are divorced and when they'd first split-up I was pretty devastated myself. These types of situations effect everyone differently, and, in Clary's case, she could just be taking it much more to heart. Then again, I didn't _know _anything for sure. Chances are that there could be something _completely _different going on. She could just not like her father.

Clary had yet to answer. Instead, she simply focused back on the entry door as if she expected customers to come out of nowhere.

"Where do you think you're going for dinner?" I asked her, as a last resort more than anything.

She shrugged again. "I think Matt's choosing."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

_Tap. Tap._

"Are you, uh, _happy _to be going to, uh, dinner?" _I'm a complete doofus. _

"I don't exactly have a choice," she practically whispered. "Not really."

My brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head slightly. "It's just...my father, he...He gets like this sometimes. He's a pretty _schedule_-oriented guy. Doesn't like any 'ifs' or 'buts' to his plans, you know?"

I nodded considerably, feeling her words sink in as if they were my own truth. "I think your father and my father should go to a game sometime."

She laughed a little, offering me a semi-smile. "You won't catch him at a game. Ever."

"Oh?"

Clary nodded. "Yeah. It's too..._unclean_."

"I—"

And then, just like that, even if Clary hadn't stopped it herself, someone else was there to end it anyways: Luke. He appeared from his office, knocking on the drywall of the back hallway to draw our attention.

We both turned to face him. In his usual attire and sporting his twenty-four-seven-nine-o'clock-shadow, Luke, as disheveled as he probably was when he woke up, heartily cleared his throat. A sound that made me inwardly cringe. _Gross. _"You two can go home. It's a slow day and I'm closing up."

We both nodded as if we were being controlled like robots, in a stupor that momentarily took away our voices.

Luke bobbed his head once, looked Happy Cones over with his tired, blue eyes, and, after eying both me and Clary, he was slinking back to his office. It was Clary who sighed then, accompanied by the sound of Luke's office door closing. "Well, there goes my Friday-night plans."

"But now you'll be able to go out to eat. With your father, I mean," I said.

She blanched at that. "It was always a matter of when."

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><p>"So, tell me again," Jordan drawled, leading the group of guys behind us to my right and peering around me to look at Alec, "<em>why <em>doesn't your sister think it's a good idea to go out with me?"

Alec noticeably blushed. It was funny, really, the way the simplest of things that aren't even necessarily about him, things he's probably even _used _to hearing, can embarrass him. Out of the whole, he was easily the quietest and most reserved, and, if it weren't for his wicked soccer skills and moments that can either leave you laughing until you're crying or truly wanting to just _think_, the guy is the last person on earth that you'd associate with us loud-mouth doofuses. He was too smart. And too easily embarrassed.

"Uh," he breathed, a cloud lingering in the air from the cold before disappearing. "Yeah, Jordan, Isabelle isn't really...interested." He said this hesitantly with an underlying tinge of humor, as if he actually found it funny. And, who could blame him? Jordan being turned down by a girl? _Get outta here.__  
><em>

Jordan gasped, genuinely offended but unable to help but laugh along with the rest of us. "But...I'm _me_! I'm beautiful!"

I scoffed. "And you spend most of your Friday nights cleaning bathrooms at Nacho Mama. You're a real catch."

"Besides, I thought you were dating that Maia-girl _and _Stacey P.?" Alec added.

It was against Jordan's nature to not take pride in this, and, after he tried to suppress a smile and failed, I shoved him into the street. He bounced back after hitting a Toyota, and retaliated by shoving me harshly into Alec. Alec blushed.

"And Jace over hear," Jordan hinted with a devilish smile, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, "is secretly screwing Clary Morgenstern."

The guys snickered as I, once again, pushed him away from me. I was all too good at making it seem as if I were unaffected and simply keeping up with the joking spirit, but, as undeniable as it was powerful, a flare of anger pulsed like a beacon in my chest. I didn't find it too funny to joke about Clary like that, not when I had this..._thing _about her. It was confusing, yes, and I probably would never understand it at this rate, but I couldn't turn my head away from my interest in her. Whatever she was to me, I didn't appreciate Jordan's oh-so frequent remarks towards her, especially when he took it as far as to make fun of her innocence. Then again, I myself was guilty of doing the same to other girls.

"You're an idiot," I told him, deep down meaning it.

"But really," he pressed, laughing as he regained his balance, "are you two, you know, enjoying each others company?"

"Your use of euphemism is astounding," I deadpanned, taking notice of him waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You really are an idiot."

"Oh come on, Jace. How is she?"

I literally stopped at that. No, I mean, _literally _stopped. Stopped walking, causing the others idiots behind me to run into my back, stopped breathing, and, momentarily, even stopped thinking. Jordan, not to mention the rest of the guys, seemed to be genuinely shocked by my reaction. I played it off, though, despite my newfound anger reserved specially for Jordan, and laughed a little unevenly. "You're hardly passing English," I said. "How can the rest of us know if _you _even know what you're saying? Clary Morgenstern, if you haven't already noticed, is a prude. Do you really think I'd go for someone like her?"

It hurt to say, truly, and I wanted to punch myself. It almost scared me how easy it was for me to degrade her like that, but the guys let it go, after laughing ridiculously, and allowed me to stay silent until we reached the restaurant. "I absolutely love Taki's," Jordan exclaimed as he held the door open for us, taking in a big whiff.

"No," I corrected him, "you just love Kaelie Whitewillow serving you a sandwich."

"True, true, but—" he immediately stopped short, his eyes resting on something behind us. An eerie smile slowly graced his features. "I _knew _there was something going on between you two."

"What are you—?" I turned around and, I'm sure, took on a very similar reaction.

It was Clary. And she wasn't alone, no. She was with her father, Mr. Morgenstern.

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><p><strong>Okay, so, next chapter you'll get a glimpse of Clary's father and how he's like! I'm really sorry if this is boring so far, but there is so much that I have planned and I'm trying to pace it realistically so it's more meaningful in the end! <strong>

**Please review! I'd love to hear from all of you guys!**

**Until next time, peace.**


	6. Lasting Impression

**Hello everyone! Thanks so much for all of the amazing response to last chapter and encouraging me to get another one up as fast as possible! I found some common questions among the reviews and I'd like to answer them!**

**1) Sorry if I made this confusing, and I'll probably be going back to make it a little more clear, but Clary and her family didn't hear anything that was said about her when Jace and "the guys" were all talking. Also, because Jordan is, well, Jordan, he knew Jace didn't plan to see Clary at Takis, rather he was just giving him a hard time. He's certainly embellishing the whole situation, isn't he? We'll get to see more from his character throughout the story, and, whether that's a good or bad thing, I'm not sure...(:**

**2) As of right now I have a horrible updating schedule! On my author's page I have an "official" one, but, so far I haven't be doing so hot at following it. I'm hoping that, because I'm now (finally) on break, I'll be able to get into a better routine. Anyways, I've been updating _Bruises_ much more frequently than all of my other stories, but I'm only supposed to be updating it on Wednesdays. Oops. **

**I hope this makes a little more sense now and that you enjoy this chapter! Thanks!**

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><p>Clary chose that exact moment to look up from her menu. I found myself caught in the crossfire between wanting to look away to prove Jordan wrong and wanting to keep looking to show Clary that I had changed, that I didn't care if my friends thought it was lame that I was interested in an unsocial sophomore. It's not like merely looking at someone determined whether you were in love with them, though, at least not to any normal human beings. It was simply a show of recognition. But my friends weren't "normal human beings", and I could already see them now piecing together an elaborate backstory behind what's going on between Clary and me—even thought there <em>isn't <em>anything going on between us—and making a quick habit of changing my name from Jace to 'Douchebag'.

Because apparently actually liking a girl makes you a douchebag.

I was _this _close to taking the easy way out to conserve my pride when _Clary_ took it for me. She averted her rather surprised gaze from me down to the table she sat at, hurriedly, as if she were afraid of people seeing _her _looking at _me_.

Jordan laughed at this. Loudly. He clapped my shoulder with one of his hands, holding his other up to his mouth to keep from drawing the attention of the entire restaurant on us, muffling the last of his amusement. Horribly, might I add. "Ooh," he said to me. "Looks like the feeling isn't mutual. Sorry, man. This must be hard for you—"

I'd had it up to about _here_, and the next words that left my mouth were purely instinctual. "_Shut up_, would you?"

His dark eyes widened in shock as I shrugged his hand off of me, clearly contemplating whether or not I was being serious; Jordan wasn't used to people being angry at him, no. Even when he'd do something stupid and get caught, he'd rely on his so-called looks to get out of it. It was weird for a guy to pay too much attention to another guy's physical appearance, but he talked about it so damn much that I'd know what he'd look like even if I had never seen him before. Now, he wasn't _bad _looking, but he wasn't exactly God's gift to the world either, and he didn't reach the calibre of attractiveness to earn himself bragging rights. He was tall, slightly taller than I was, and he was broader, too. About yea big, with yea being the equivalent to a college football player.

In my opinion, he was too far away from the ground to be any good at soccer, but I guess being vertically-challenged wasn't one of his flaws. I had yet to see him play because soccer season was still months away, but rumor had it that he was pretty damn good. It must be for that reason that people are so tolerable towards him.

He had a rather large nose and set of ears, but his hair was long enough that you couldn't really tell unless you took a closer look. And no one's going to want to take a closer look at someone else's _ears_, so they didn't really hinder his appearance all that much.

The rest of him was all right; he has dark brown hair, eyes that are a few shades lighter, and skin that's even more so. He was one of those guys that was okay-looking, but had such a loud and obnoxious personality that you couldn't not notice him. That, and he got his teeth whitened, like, every couple of months. No matter, he knew that his appearance could only get him so far, and he was smart in the sense that he'd leave the girls in our grade alone and go for the vulnerable, more-willing sophomores. Dating an upperclassmen alone was reason enough to make Jordan pretty popular among the tenth graders.

He, in short, was a jerk. But he was a self-admitted jerk and didn't pretend to be any different, so, for that, I couldn't really blame him. It was just how he was. But, at times, at times like _this_, Jordan was just overbearing and the last person you'd want to have around. The guy could sniff out opportunities to get on your last nerves from miles away, and he never knew when to shut up. When to have enough decency to give someone space. And the reason: to get a few laughs.

He was smart, though. I knew he'd caught me looking at Clary more than enough times now to know that I didn't exactly see her in a friendly way. And he thought this was all too funny, and, with her being here—purely out of coincidence—I knew that he wasn't going to waste any time to make an bigger doofus out of me. He was going to make his move, and I could only hope that it wouldn't go as far as to him actually going over to Clary's table. _Could you imagine the mortification? _

"Let's go grab a table," I told the group, quickly avoiding Jordan's all-knowing gaze.

"What?" he said, disbelieving and loud enough for Clary to notice. "You're not even going to say 'hi' to her? Whatever happened to chivalry?"

I leaned towards him, and, with a deathly low tone, I said, "If you don't shut the hell up, you can forget about having that party at my place—"

Jordan, smiling gleefully, effortlessly side-stepped out of my reach and made sure to keep his voice heard. "This could be your one shot! Make your move! Go over there and talk to her! She's waiting—"

"Jordan!" I snapped, and, for a moment, I thought I sounded just like my father. It scared me a little.

He knew he had me right where he wanted me. The crooked, mischievous smile said as much. "Well," he drawled with finality, clasping his hands in front of him. "There's no need to be shy. I'll go with you."

My eyes widened. "What, no—"

"Come on Jace, I'll show you the way."

I wanted to wring his neck when I opened my mouth to shout his name again, but he was already turned around and making his way towards Clary, who, by the way, I had never seen look so uncomfortable before. I inwardly groaned and hurried after him, knowing very well that he was too close to her already for me to yank him backwards; then she'd really think I was jerk. By the time I reached him, we were standing directly in front of Clary and her father, Mr. Morgenstern. I briefly took notice of Matt sitting opposite of them, seeming just as uncomfortable as his sister.

"Hello!" Jordan greeted the Morgensterns with a big fat smile.

Clary smiled thinly and made a conscious effort, I'm sure, to avoid having to look at me. On any other occasion I wouldn't have been able to stop weighing her reactions, I wouldn't have been able to keep myself from feeling the hurt that only took its effect whenever she was around, but, at that moment, it wasn't her that I was worried about. Her father, who sat on the outside of the booth, trapping Clary in between him and the wall, as stoic as his expression was, did nothing to hide the fact that he wasn't finding our display to be funny. Unlike Clary, he had dark eyes, currently narrowed, and silvery gray, almost white-looking hair. It took me a second to recognize any similarities he may have with his children, but I couldn't, not for the life of me, find any resemblance. The guy was _huge_, even sitting down, and made Clary look so tiny. Beside him, she looked about as delicate as a flower in the presence of a boot coming down to squash her.

I knew he was her father, but the overpowering air he gave off was enough to warn any sane man to tread with caution. I could imagine that he was insanely strict, even more so than my father, and that he had a lot of authority in his line of work, which carried over into his daily life. He wore an overcoat and tie; he looked very well put together, sporting a fancy, sterling watch, freshly groomed hair, and cologne that smelled way too expensive to be Tommy Hilfiger. Mr. Morgenstern looked like a businessman, hell, like a CEO. He _looked _rich.

It took me a few moments of taking him all in for a question to sink in: if Clary's father was clearly flaunting in both his success and superiority, then why had she been so adamant to get a job at Happy Cones? It's not like she needed the money, unless Mr. Morgenstern didn't usually look like this, unless he'd just come from a wedding or job interview or something. But that couldn't even be a possibility. He screamed power, and no man that lived off of minimum wage screamed power.

It was then, when he smiled tightly at Jordan, that I finally found something he had in common with his daughter: he was great at wearing a mask. Though his, his were much easier to see through. "Hello, boys," he nodded in a low, rather gruff voice, eyeing me in acknowledgement. "What can we do for you?"

Jordan was all too eager to respond, not at all fazed by how intimidating Clary's father was. "Mr. Morgenstern, I am so very sorry to have to interrupt your evening, but my friend here," he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and bringing me closer, "couldn't help but want to say 'hi' to your daughter."

Mr. Morgenstern looked at me then. "You know my daughter?"

I discreetly shrugged off Jordan's arm from me for the second time that night, nodded, and pushed down the uneasiness I felt. "Just from—" I cut myself off, suddenly realizing how dangerous it was to reveal to Jordan that Clary was my co-worker at Happy Cones. There was no telling what he could do with that information. "From school."

Clary's father looked down at her, clearly wanting her to elaborate. Clary looked at him quickly before turning her attention on Jordan and me. "We-we have physics together."

"And calculous," I added, much softer than I'd intended.

"And calculous," Clary repeated after me, her green eyes meeting mine. I couldn't help but let the weirdness of the situation sink in; here I was, standing in front of enigma-girl and her scary father, practically allowing Jordan to embarrass me if only to make a good impression on her said scary father, when I had yet to even make a good impression on her. She was really the only thing I cared about in this situation, but, if it weren't for Jordan, I would've avoided her like the Black Plague.

I kept wondering why she'd let my lie slip, why she hadn't corrected me and told her father—and Jordan that we worked together at an ice cream parlor practically every day of the week. There was something in her eyes, something that was silently pleading with me _to _lie, and, because she was looking at me the way she was, so dependently, I couldn't help but feel...needed by her. With Clary, that was practically unheard of. I was being stupid, I know, but I've already established that I was a complete idiot when it came to her. She never needed anybody, not as far as I could tell, and she never delved far enough into relationships _to _need anybody, but, even if she was just showing me a glimmer of it, I, of all people, felt like the difference in that moment.

She looked away then, back towards her father.

There was something definitely off, something that I was missing.

Then, a loud clinking noise drew my attention, along with everyone else's, down at Matt. He quickly picked up his dropped spoon, cheeks red from the attention, and glanced at Clary once before withdrawing his eyes down at his lap. He, even in the presence of his father, surely a man he knew fairly well, was still as shy as he always was. _He's like this with everyone_, I recalled Clary saying, _at least until he gets to know them better_.

Maybe it was just Jordan. He was making me feel uncomfortable, too.

I tore my eyes away from Matt, knowing he wouldn't appreciate if I didn't, and stared back up at his father. "We just finished a project together," I told him, referring to Clary. "In, uh, calculous."

"Project?" he inquired, looking down at his daughter. "In a math class? Is that right?"

Clary nodded quickly, but didn't say anything to strengthen the lie I had going.

"It was to finish up the unit," I elaborated.

Mr. Morgenstern raised his brows. "I'm sure you both did a fine job."

"Thank you, sir—"

"Jace here," Jordan suddenly butted in, "isn't being entirely truthful."

_God no._

"Oh?" Mr. Morgenstern hinted, looking at me full-on.

I could see Clary in my peripheral vision noticeably sit up straighter in her seat, seeming just as on edge as I was at this point.

"You see," Jordan drawled, nodding, "Jace, _outside _of calculous class, can't stop talking about your daughter."

I inwardly groaned, just barely resisting the urge to jut my elbow up sharply into his unsuspecting nose.

Mr. Morgenstern sat back at this, tenting his hands in front of his chest. Out of all the bad timings in the world, now was the perfect one for the waitress to come over, seemingly oblivious to the exchange that had happened only moments before her arrival. She blushed as all of us turned to look at her, drawing her pen from her apron to point behind her. "If now is a bad time, I can come back in—"

"_No!_" I said, much too rushed. I swallowed once and tried again, this time much calmer. "No. That's fine. We were just stopping by to say 'hi'." I nodded at the Morgensterns, too embarrassed to look at Clary directly, and turned on my heel, walked straight past the table the other guys were now sitting at, and right out the front door.

Jordan and Alec and whoever else needed a ride could find their own because I was out of there.

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><p>On Monday, when I arrived at Happy Cones, it took me all but a second to realize that Clary wasn't there. Matt wasn't either, but, then again, the two were a package-deal; wherever his sister was, I'm sure he was too. I wasn't anything if I wasn't curious as I went to stand behind the counter. It was weird to not have Clary next to me. I mean, yeah, it had only been a couple weeks, but we'd spent hours after school together practically every day, and, to say I hadn't gotten used to it would be a lie.<p>

"She called in sick," a voice from behind me said. I nearly jumped at the suddenness of it, but I was able to shake myself pretty quickly when it sunk in that it was just Luke. I turned to face him.

"That's not like her," I found myself saying, leaning backwards against the countertop.

"No, it's not," Luke agreed, sounding drained if anything. He had his hand resting against the back wall of the hallway, and he tapped it against the surface a few times before sighing heavily, head bobbing once. "I think you can handle a shift on your own, though. I'll close up after you leave."

With that, he disappeared back into his office, leaving me completely alone and wondering if Clary were truly sick, and, if the answer was 'no', why she really wasn't here.

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><p><strong>So, you guys got to meet Valentine! I didn't get too much into his character this chapter, but there's still much more to come where he's concerned. What are your thoughts about Jordan? About how Jace handled the situation? About Clary missing work? <strong>

**Next chapter I'm introducing Isabelle and Max! **

**Until next time, peace.**


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